Gilded Cages, Raven Wings

Previously

…She sat back, the weight of her past heavy upon her shoulders, the dust motes still dancing in the slivers of light, silent witnesses to her internal struggle. The room, once a tomb, now felt like a crucible. The whispers from the dust, the spectral voices of her poems, were beginning to coalesce, to form a narrative. The journey ahead was long, and the path shrouded in mist, but for the first time in a long time, Amy Kathryn Allen felt the faintest stirrings of a purpose, a tentative step towards understanding, and perhaps, towards release. The gilded cages of her sorrow were still firmly locked, but somewhere, in the deep recesses of her soul, the first flutter of raven wings had begun.